of it! The spilling of the blood of God’s anointed must forever curse this unholy land. My father, I shall always see Norway in thy martyred blood.”
“But listen, child! Even so, thy work is here. God hath so appointed. I have grieved for thee, but with the wondrous light death leaves on earthly mysteries, I see that here, in this wild, sinful land, thou hast a work to do, the work of a Christian woman, a daughter of the land of Saint Patrick. It hath been our portion to carry in our sad hearts and upon our sorrowing lips the message of Christ to many lands. God hath allowed the heart of Erin to be trodden upon even as the vintager treads down the grapes, and out of that bruised and bleeding heart hath been poured upon the world a wonderful, strong wine of faith. So thou, too, child. Give from the bleeding of thy own heart the full chalice of Christ’s love to this parched and thirsty land. Now comes Father Tuathal to shrive me and to aid me over the lone journey I must take. Farewell! God’s blessing on thee, child!”
“Farewell!” Maidoch moved away a space and covered her tear-filled eyes. Father Tuathal, too grieved for many words, knelt down and laid the head of the dying man upon his breast, shrived him, and whispered the sweet, strong words of holy faith, as the soul of the martyr fluttered away.
“Farewell!” The young priest closed the deep, dark eyes and laid the dead softly on the snowy
